


Untangle Me

by grinandsin



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grinandsin/pseuds/grinandsin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s not sure if he’s asking for Jon to stay right here alongside him in the warmth and safety of the bed, or if he’s asking for Jon to stay here with him and the team, <em>their</em>  team, for the rest of their careers. It feels oddly like asking for the same thing either way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untangle Me

**Author's Note:**

> (in correspondence with the 2008—2009 season)

Contrary to popular belief, Patrick likes honesty. Cherishes it, appreciates it, fuck, if honesty was a girl he’d gladly wine and dine her without expecting to receive anything in return. His mama raised him right, okay?

So yeah, he likes people who tell it like it is, who aren’t afraid to skip straight past the alleviating and jump right into _hit ‘em where it hurts_ territory. That’s why this thing with Jon works so well, because Jon doesn’t see the point in damaging with dishonesty and he definitely isn’t afraid to hit him where it hurts the most—figuratively of course, because Patrick remembers his first “fight” against Hanzal, and it’s no secret that Jonny’s fighting skills haven’t exactly improved dramatically in only a month.

“It’s just sex; it means absolutely nothing, alright?” Jon says one night after a long game against the Red Wings, which ultimately ended in a 5-4 shootout loss. They’ve just returned from the game, both still too young to get involved in any of the ‘fun’ things yet, and not willing to risk missing curfew with a pending game against the Coyotes the following day.

Jon pushes him against the wall, uses his hands to grab the waistband of Patrick’s jeans and fumbles, trying to undo both the button and the zipper. As Pat begins to move his hands to help him out a little down there, Jon finally gets it and Pat’s jeans are hurriedly pushed down his legs with Jonny nippily following the movement.

“ _Fuck,_ been thinking about this throughout the whole ride home,” Jon mumbles into Patrick’s brief-clad thigh, face right there in Patrick’s junk, and if he’s leaking a little bit of precome already, no one’s there to chirp him. Jon runs his hands up and down Patrick’s legs for a little while; his calloused hands close enough to his dick that Pat swears he can feel ghosts of Jon’s fingers running up his entire front.

“Quit playing around and just _get to it,_ Jonny,” Pat whines, breath already coming out a little shallow, despite the fact that all Jon’s technically done is feel him up a little bit. But fuck—if you’ve never had Jonathan-intensely-focused-Toews all up close and personal with your dick then you really can’t talk. Like, Patrick prides himself on being able to last for an adequate amount of time. But with Jon, who knows just the right amount of twist and pressure to get Patrick’s heart racing and dick twitching, he’s, well, defenseless.

That seems to be the encouragement that Jonny was waiting for though because he immediately dips his head in after that; he mouths at the head of Pat’s dick, slowly sucking him it in through his briefs, and it feels good, it’s _Jonny_ so of course it’s fucking good, but not as good as the quick bites, followed closely by long licks, to the inside of Pat’s thighs. Because hey, that’s his spot, man _,_ and when you’re getting sex like this on the reg, well then you don’t really have any need for shame in your game.

Fortunately, Jon’s not a total asshole (except for how he totally is) and eventually _does_ plan to get his mouth actually on Pat instead of just his briefs, so he pulls off. Pat doesn’t complain because seconds later Jon’s fingers are carefully pushing up and underneath the bottom of Pat’s briefs and pulling them off completely.

“ _God_ ,” Jon groans, leaning back on his heels, looking up at Patrick with the dirtiest fucking grin he’s ever seen on Jonny’s face. And fuck _,_ he hasn’t even opted to take off his goddamn suit yet and that, the fact that they were in such a rush to get their hands on one another they couldn’t even stop for like, the fundamentals of sex and shit, makes something in Patrick’s stomach jump.

Patrick’s dick is twitching against his stomach, leaking precome everywhere, and Jonny just leans down to lick at a patch of smooth, wet skin near his belly button, because he apparently thinks it’s funny to be a fucking tease.

“You look so good like this, Pat,” Jon’s saying as he bends back in and mouths along the side of Pat’s dick, up the underside of his shaft and before Patrick can even properly respond, Jon’s swallowing him down whole. And okay, _someone’s_ been practicing on their deep-throating skills, because while sex with Jon has always been good for Pat, this feels better than everything else they’ve ever done in regards to dick sucking.

Patrick chances looking down, can’t stop himself from moving his hand to where Jon’s mouth is stretched-out around his dick and Pat just takes a moment to feel himself moving in-and-out.  And _shit,_ Jon’s cheeks are hollowed out and he looks so good like that. Looks so good staring up at Pat with that wild fucking look in his eyes and spit dribbling down his stupid chin. His eyelashes are a dark contrast to the rosy shade beginning to cover his cheeks, and Patrick can’t even believe what he’s looking at right now. Some kind of goddamn world wonder, probably.

Patrick trembles beneath Jon, head hitting the back of the door harder than intended. “Hey,” Jon breathes out, looking up, easing off Pat for a moment, “It’s just sex, ‘kay?”

“Got it,” Patrick says as he brings his right hand up to twist in Jonny’s hair, he doesn’t really care what he has to say as long as Jon gets back on him. Now is definitely not the time for Jon to be enforcing his stupid dictum down Pat’s throat. “Means n-nothing,” Pat gasps as he comes, seconds later, and that’s when Patrick’s relationship with honesty goes down the fucking drain. 

*****

See, they’ve been doing this for a while now and it’s become a familiar song and dance for Patrick. Lights out, door locked, hushed moans against the soft plush of one another’s skin.

It’s convenient and saves them both from having to sneak into the bars with the guys to try to pick up, and Patrick thinks that’s why Jon’s finally given up the whole ‘it could compromise the team’ pretense and has taken simply to fucking Patrick against their hotel door whenever he very well pleases. It’s not like Pat really minds though, the sex is incredible and he’s never actually had it on tap like this before.

And he knows what the articles say, knows sportswriters have emphasized how different they are from one another, often using the stupid ass quote, “opposites attract” to explain whatever it is they have between them, which yeah okay, Patrick _gets_ it.

All of the guys see Jon as disciplined, careful, _serious_. It often seems like he built himself on the concept of control—not just of himself, but of his environment and the people he permits to be around him. But Patrick isn’t his, doesn’t play by any rules and just mixes things up more than he knows is sometimes manageable. He likes to jump into things feet first, all thrashing, awkward limbs and that babbling, machine gun mouth whereas Jonny likes to take the time to weigh the risks and rewards of things before acting upon his desires.

But there are times—scattered throughout press conferences, game days, and everything in the middle—where Jon has moments with Patrick of what seems like absolute openness, these instances where he loses whatever constraints that are always holding him back, and he becomes this lighthearted version of himself that makes Patrick’s eyes light up. Patrick doesn’t understand it, but he doesn’t actually outright question Jon about it, either. Figures it’s not worth the weird looks or the chirping.

After sex, Jon always does his best to feign normalcy by rushing out of the room to hang with the other guys on the team. It’s like if he stays in the bed with Pat for too long then he might be compelled to face his actions and then it will all just go to shit. Whenever this happens, Patrick finds himself sitting on his bed, his legs tucked under his ass while he watches Jon get dressed and leave the hotel room with a small smile and half-hearted wave thrown in his direction, Pat’s gut churning something raw and foreign.

“Patrick,” Jon says one night, pausing at the door, coat in hand because it’s cold as fuck outside, eyes flickering in the moonlight from the open curtains. Immediately Patrick thinks  _mysterious and striking,_  but he doesn’t say the words because he’s not allowed. “You still okay with this?” Jon gestures between them lazily, as if what they have between them is nothing more than an arrangement. But then again, that’s exactly what it is.

Patrick swallows, tastes acid at the movement, and grinds his teeth in an attempt to stop his emotions from displaying all over his face because his younger sisters are _always_ telling him that he’s absolute shit at hiding what he’s really feeling. “Yeah,” he says. And then, “All is good, man. Go have some fun, I’m just gonna hang back here, maybe watch some pay-per-view or something. Enjoy the perks, remember?”

“Okay, Kaner. Don’t strain anything.” Jon says with a laugh, and then continues to head out. The door closing behind him sounds a lot like finality.

Patrick lets his head fall back against his pillow as he breathes a sigh of what feels strangely like relief.

*****

It’s the night before their big game against the Canucks, and it’s nearly midnight so Pat knows they should get some much needed sleep, but both of them had been restless all evening. It’s almost silent in their room now, though, but it’s not peaceful, not a  _quiet_ type of silence. It’s the kind of stillness that screams and cries and begs to be broken, to be disturbed.

Patrick turns over, grabs at Jon when he makes to leave and return to his own bed on the other side of their shared room. Jon freezes beneath Patrick’s fingers, muscles tightly coiled and expression, Patrick pictures, as passive as ever. But Patrick is  _sick,_ okay? Sick of pretending he doesn’t give a fuck when he does _,_ because,  _no,_ this isn’t him and he can’t just resist everything that Jon is and stands for.

“Stay here,” Patrick murmurs. He’s not sure if he’s asking for Jon to stay right here alongside him in the warmth and safety of the bed, or if he’s asking for Jon to stay here with him and the team, _their_ team, for the rest of their careers. It feels oddly like asking for the same thing either way.

“Patrick,” Jon says, careful, withdrawing away from Patrick’s touch as easily as Patrick allows. “You know I can’t.”

Which _no,_ Patrick doesn’t fucking know that, doesn’t get what the big deal is when it’s just them, has mostly been just the two of them since last season when they were thrown into this whole thing together.

And Pat’s not entirely certain why he chooses right then to care, because they’ve been flirting on this line for months now, but once he latches onto the idea, he can’t seem to let it go. Maybe it’s the exhaustion catching up to him, ‘cause they’ve been on the road for the past five games, and while he usually ignores Sharpy’s taunts about staying out past their little rookie bed times, the distinct change in pace _is_ starting to kick his ass a little bit. Not like he’d ever admit it out loud, though.

“What do you mean you _can’t_ , Jonny? It’s pretty fucking simple, actually,” Patrick finds himself saying. “All you do is reach over and turn off that damn desk light and then get comfortably back in bed until I wake your ass up in the morning to get breakfast. Sounds pretty straightforward to me.”

Jon is unmoving by Patrick’s bed, like a statue, and his face shows no emotion but his eyes—oh  _god_ , his eyes show all sorts of confusion and pain and Patrick doesn’t even want to think about that, doesn’t  _want_  to know why, just knows that Jon doesn’t really want this and Patrick doesn’t want to be his…well, _fuck,_ he isn’t even sure what he’s defined as. All he knows is that they’ve been through a lot together for none of this to matter, none of it to mean anything at all.

“Pat,” Jon pauses. “Don’t do this. Not tonight. We’ve got a— ”

“A game tomorrow?” Patrick offers, sitting up straight. “You think I don’t fucking know that, asshole? Is that what this is all about? Do you think that if we do this, for real, that I’ll suddenly throw all my other responsibilities out the window and just...quit? Because honestly, if that’s what little you think of me, then I’d rather you just not fucking want anything to do with me at all.”

“Shit,” Jon swears loudly. “That’s not what I meant—”

Patrick cuts him off again. “You know what? Just forget I bothered.”

“No,” Jon says, making a move towards Patrick.

Pat scoots farther up the bed, back hitting the headboard. And sure, maybe he’s being childish, but if this isn’t eating Jonny up from the inside out like it is him, then he’s not sure it’s even worth it anyway.

“Christ Pat, please just listen to me,” Jon’s saying, right hand reaching out to wrap around Patrick’s left wrist, and pulling him closer, back to where Jon’s seated himself on the edge of the bed.

Patrick motions for him to go, but knows that he’s not going to get to get up and leave the room. until Jon’s had his say.

“What I meant was that I didn’t want to lose it all,” he says, face searching Pat’s for understanding. “Still don’t want to lose it all.”

“Lose what, exactly?”

Jon shrugs, then motions with his head at the room around them. “This,” he says simply, but then follows that with, “hockey, you, me, everything.”

And Patrick kind of gets it, he guesses, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to stop Jon now, not when he’s finally opening up.

“I didn’t think it was possible to have…” Jonny pauses then, rubs a hand down his face and up again before he starts where he left off. “I didn’t think I could have it all, you know? Like, my whole life has been about me choosing only one thing over another. First it was between Shattuck-St. Mary's and the Tri-City Americans, then UND or the Hawks organization, and now you or hockey. I’ve never been able to have both, no matter what it is, and I thought this was another case of that.”

“And so you thought, what? That “buddy-fucking” was a sure-fire way to keep the parts that you wanted without having to maintain all of it?” Pat says, more than a little sarcastically. "Makes sense."

Jon shakes his head, eyes staring hard into Patrick’s, as if he thinks he can just will Patrick to get it by sheer determination. “You know that’s not it; that was never it, Pat.”

Pat laughs without humor. “Right, okay.”

“I just didn’t want to pick this time around,” Jonny says, belatedly, voice pained and exposed.

“Jonny,” Patrick says, and he lets his voice drop lower, lets the fight rush out of him. “You wouldn’t have had to choose. Hockey and I are like a pair, a duo. Like me and you, man. You could’ve just _said_ something, we would’ve worked it out. Together.”

Jon doesn’t say anything, just gets this pained look on his face, one that Pat’s taking to mean, “damn, I fucked up big time,” and then he’s tilting forward to meet Patrick and Patrick’s leaning in to meet him; they end up meeting somewhere in the middle.

The kiss is not gentle, it’s not loving, it’s painful and it  _hurts,_ but it also feels so goddamn right _._ Like, they’ve worked their asses off for this, for _them_. The kiss tastes like sweetness and like—like fucking sunshine _,_ for God’s sake. It tastes like that feeling when you wake up in the morning to the smell of bacon, or hot chocolate and a good book on a cold and rainy Friday night. 

“I love you, Patrick—I,” Jon is spitting out suddenly, and the words come out like a cross between a plea and a prayer, desperate and raw like an open wound that doesn’t quite know how to heal. " _Fuck."_

But then Jon comes in again, catches Patrick’s bottom lip between his teeth and this kiss is differentsomehow, like it  _means_ something none of the others ever have, means more than just frustrated sex and a warm body on a cold night.

And Patrick thinks that this is okay, that this is more than okay, because when he hisses, "I love you," like a confession, like a curse that he doesn’t want to utter too loudly, Jon just kisses him some more and whispers, "I know. Fuck it if I didn’t try to stop it for a while there, but you too."

FIN


End file.
